My emailed message from the Universe said it’s funny how real all of this extended dream we’ve chosen for ourselves feels. My dream even has dueling mockingbirds that started singing just as I typed that. I dream in detail, baby.

So what if I make this a lucid dream and just drive away? What If I chuck it all and see what my subconscious creates next? I could. All that stops me is fear of bad dreams.

It IS a lucid dream. I AM directing the movie from here.

My movie will now shift to a remake of Off the Map and a story of self-sufficiency and the life of a hermit who doesn’t need anything but high speed internet access and a source of water to survive. My movie is about a woman who makes an obscene amount of easy money from her brilliant writing and her witty repartee on radio talk shows. (That way she doesn’t have to work out or buy fancy clothes or pay for highlights in her hair.)

She generates her own power, grows her own food, trades her skills in writing, layout and design, and photography for everything else she needs. She travels the world and get paid to do it.

And when those who have mistreated her slink out of their caves to ask for favors, she tilts her head compassionately, reminds them of their long lists of transgressions against her, and asks them what they would do if the situation were reversed. Then she gives them more than what they asked for on condition that they pay the kindness forward and bring her proof of such action.

Revenge through altruism. Gotta love that.

How much of my near-constant funk is self-indulgent crap? How much is chemical? How much is legitimate reaction to difficult situations? How much is the angst of squelched creative genius?

80%, 10%, 9% and 1%.

At least now we’ve cleared THAT up.